Chapter 73: Teasers & Tweezers

Chapter 73: Teasers & Tweezers

Disney Studio Offices, LA. April 2012.

“Gotta admit, this scene certainly is a sight for sore eyes.”

“Sore follicles, more like.” I resisted every itching urge to yank the wig off my head and cap it on Felton’s dome. “Although, if nostalgia serves, you used to be the poor sod getting his hair prettied up; not me. Wanna swap?”

“Not even for your undoubtedly exorbitant paycheque, thanks. I have precious little hair left after a decade of awful blonde dye-jobs, as it is.” Tom outright refused my offer; perfectly content with the role reversal we’d found ourselves in.

“You sure?” I pressed on, anyway. The entire reason Tom was joining me during my costume fitting and testing for Malekith was because I’d snuck his profile under the casting director’s door. The part he’d eventually landed was small, but bigger than anything he’d had since Potter ended.

Playing a bungling, hapless British suitor should hopefully serve as enough of a departure from his Malfoy typecast to get him going. His prevaricating confirmed he’d suit the part well enough. 

Chris O’Dowd wouldn’t be inducted into this ‘it’ crowd, unfortunately for him. 

“Absolutely. And regardless, you’ve already done more than I’d asked for. I’d rather not impose further for fear of sounding ungrateful, Bas.” Don’t really understand why he was being so stubbornly polite over a personal favour on my end; the professionalism was best reserved for Anita. 

Tom’s agent was one of the handful who’d escaped the grimy clutches of Venit and his ilk at WME and joined SpecOps. Banking a Disney contract right off the bat was a genuine coup for tinsel town’s latest upstart talent start-up. 

“Don’t worry about overstepping. All I did was get you a foot in the door.” Literally. Head shots and feet pics were a terrifically potent combination. Nothing under heaven, earth, and Hollywood backrooms was as persuasive as perversion–and I had some serious powers of pervsuasion. “Seriously, think about it. We could rule this city, Spidahman!”

Actualizing all the advice I’d finagled out of some of the industry’s horrid heavy-hitters–ala Alan Rickman, Willem Dafoe, old Gary Oldman, and Tim Roth–I practised the freshest of my acting lessons. The recipe we’d concocted for Malekith’s manic mein comprised contorting my face into wide eyes, a wider smile, and the widest disregard for sanity.

Head tilted sideways and voice pitch-shifted high, I cackled as the faux white tresses slid off my shoulders–then nearly off my scalp entirely when someone tugged on it hard.

Willem’s goblin-themed guidance wasn’t the only souvenir I’d brought during my recent round-trip from Milan. “Stop that! What a horrible sight to witness.” Elsa Hosk, my not-so-secret Victoria’s Secret affair, had finally smuggled herself out from under Prada so that she could get on top of my case, it seems. 

I’d brung her to my fitting as both a fashion vizier, and a potential template for how I wanted Malekith’s luscious locks to look. “Horrible’s sort of the point, love.” 

My swish as I tauntingly shook my head while craning my neck backwards to look at her was met with an equal level of maturity. “Nä nä. No, I refer only to your ugly wig. It is bulbous and unflattering to the shape of your skull.” 

“Guess I just have a lot on my mind. Ask Felton. He knows.”

Tom shuffled uncomfortably as Elsa’s ire focused in on him at my prodding. “I–I do? How the hell would I know what you’re prattling on about?”

For all their similarities, neither of my two blue-eyed blondes were getting along; they’d spoken nary a word to each other after introductions. Apparently, their sense of camaraderie only extended insofar as my mutual existence in their lives. Since that’s the case, I gave them something more in common. Namely, more of me, maybe too much of me–but ‘too much’ is something Tom is well aware of. “Most people have foreheads, mate. By that metric, you’re tallying up to sixteen, officer square-head.”

“Why–! I Never!” Ah, see? There’s the bumbling brit the part needs. Both of them were none too impressed, but at least they were on the same page now.

“Please… I mistakenly assumed a man like you would have his head full of pretty girls; turns out, there is nothing between your ears at all. You are as oblivious as they come, Bas Rhys.” Her two cents paid (unlike my attention she felt entitled to), Elsa whipped my toupe right off my head. 

Literal pin-drop silence when a rain of bobby pins fell to the floor. “Pigtail-pulling coupled with name-calling. What is this, a playground crush? Feeling jelly just cuz I got Tom a role and not you? I’m gonna tell my mom on you!”

But before I could go tattling, Marvel’s resident superhero hairstylist was already clucking disapprovingly at my receding hairnet. “She’s not wrong, though–about the hair part, I mean! Too lumpy under the wig. I’ll have to bring out the clippers; you’re due a trim, anyway.” Gently prying all the salon accoutrements, or what hadn’t already been ripped off. “Actually, we might as well start with your body hair first.”

“Bodysuit and paint weren’t good enough for you? I gotta get a buzz-cut, too?”

“Unless you wanna be a nineties prom princess with an updo; yes.”

Tom was quick to interrupt. “Waxing, are we? Any chance I could get in on that?”

And Elsa was quicker to follow. “I shall also join. Tell me, shall we salvage this date, Bas? I would love to travel to Brazil.”

I narrowed my glare at the two newfound furious friends. “Do your worst.”

They did.

There wasn’t anything manly about the scaping happening across my sensitive skin. “Ya-ya-ya-yeowch!” Tom and Elsa ended up becoming an unequivocally terrible two-some. “Soliloquy! Himbo! Idiosyncratic! Thrombocytopoenic purpura!”

Flat supine, my arms were bound as lascivious leers loomed above me. I wouldn’t resort to untruths and claim I’d never imagined I’d participate in a threesome at some point in my life. But not like this.

Not like this!

“Shh, Bas. We did not agree on any safe words. You must suffer the consequences of your lapse in judgement.” Elsa scooped an overly generous dollop of vaseline the stylist offered her, and proceeded to threateningly rub my nipples.

“Hair loss isn’t all that amusing anymore, is it, Rhys?” Tom had me by the short and curlies, as well. Hot wax dripped onto any and every exposed tuft of pubes across my torso.

The BDSM allusions weren’t being helped by strip after strip of linen being stuck and plucked off of me. “Mummy!” Each painful swipe, another yelp and band-aid yoink that’d require bandaging of its own. “Begone with this devil’s threesome! Call yourself an angel all you want; the only reason you fell to earth is because you did something to god!” Schwip! Despite my wailing, Elsa ripped the hair straight outta my pits. “I swear I’ll get you back for this!”

–

If there was a singular benefit to my sadomasochistic spa session, I’d say the thick layer of purplish body paint hid any burgeoning bruises. The rest of the outfit the costume specialist zipped me into also tried its best to make me disappear into Malekith. “The pauldron-style armour on your shoulders is mostly plastic and rubber, but they’re still relatively sharp–so, be careful of the spikes. Don’t let the plating fool you either. Just because it’s supposed to be some fictional super alloy doesn’t mean it’s gonna offer you any real protection. In the real world, skintight suits are about as flimsy as it gets.”

“I’m guessing the skirt provides equivalent protection, then.” I asked as they buttoned a belt of short leather straps to the edge of the upper body portion. 

“Would have done more when pteruges or hoplite skirts were properly in use. I’m sorry to say that for the purposes of the movie, only the ancient pantheon look really applies. Still, I think our rendition is plenty comicbook-accurate while still successfully maintaining the more grounded vibe Marvel’s going for with costumes.” 

I turned to my focus group and curled an eyebrow in silent question. “Impressions?” 

“Better than the first few choices. I prefer the slightly more subdued crimson and slate colours. Draws greater focus on your otherworldly complexion than the brighter red and black outfits did.” Elsa approved as much as she was capable of.

“Anything’s less boring than that first one. Tatty grey rags around white body armour made you out to be some discount death eater, in my opinion. The one you’re wearing now is good–especially since you’ve no longer got to wear that ridiculous jabberwocky mask.” Tom’s assessment was also very much in line with my own–as well as the original audience’s from the snoozefest of future’s past.

Giving myself a satisfied once-over in the mirror, I villainously swept my white wig back and posed. Arms spread, feet crossed over the other, I flexed my muscles and watched them ripple beneath the lycra leotard. “Well, all that’s left is the screen test, I reckon. But that’s not for another few weeks. So, mind if I peel all this crap off me now? My skin’s kinda tender from everyone’s mercies.” 

–

Marriot Honeymoon Suite, LA. April 2012.

Elsa flashed her keycard at the IR reader on the handle. It beeped green, and unlocked. Rather than entering immediately, she twirled on the threshold and faced me, barring me entry. “Mine gratitude for dropping me back to my room, Bas.”

“Kicking me out before even inviting me in? I was hoping to borrow your shower, if nothing else. I’ve still got nooks and crannies slathered in paint.”

“Oh?” That was arguably the most sarcastic lone syllable I’d ever heard voiced out loud. “Perhaps Tom may allow you the use of his facilities. You seem quite taken with each other, after all. In fact, it is a wonder you are with me in any capacity. Alfie on our first, Mr Rickman during our reunion, and now this–you have a bad habit of finding strangers to third-wheel along with us, Bas.” 

I was ever in favour of a bit of teasing. The strip variety even moreso, yet… each needled word was death by a thousand cuts of contrition. I scratched my head; short freshly shorn follicles prickling my palm and memories both. “Fine, fine. I can take a hint–”

“--Nej, you cannot! That is precisely the problem.” 

“But I genuinely do need that shower, El.” I stifled the diablo that wanted to follow after.

“Hm, very well. I shall not deny you that, at least.” Sauntering inside, Elsa granted me entry–as well as the sight of her walking away. “But, do be quick about it. I have an appointment with the pulse setting on my showerhead. Perhaps it can do what you won’t.” 

“C’mon, there’s no need to be hurtful!” 

“Need? No. But I certainly want.” 

I barely crossed the frame before I paused. She was undeniably conscious of my gaze as she performatively got comfortable. Purse tossed onto the footbed ottoman, she next reached down to unclasp her heels. Bent as she was in her exceedingly tight-fitting frock, I could easily trace the intricate pattern of the lace panties she’d worn. 

Effort and expectation. 

As she’d said, there wasn’t a need for her to keep her knees straight, but she decidedly wanted to show-off her derriere. The only thing she was wrong about, though, was my capability to take a hint. 

Clack! I closed the door and shackled the security latch shut. Shucking my shoes off with my first two steps, I padded over as she studiously ignored my approach. Until she couldn’t anymore when I pressed my chest against her suddenly stiff back. “What are you doing?” 

I remained quiet for a moment. 

Snaking one arm around her hip to pull her deeper into my embrace, the other caressed, then wrapped around her throat. “You’ve been barking at me all day.” Her pulse thrummed below my thumb. I perched my chin behind her ear and nipped at her lobe. “Don’t complain when I choose to bite back.” 

The delicate flesh pinched between my canines. “O-oh–!? I-is that…” her breath shuddered and so did her quickening heartbeat. “A threat?”

Buried in her sweat-scented temple, my nose instantly sniffed the endocrine spice of her growing anticipation and arousal. “Merely a warning. I’m giving you what you want. Pain.” Shifting off her neck, I snatched a fistful of her curls from the base of her skull and forced her to finally face me. “And pleasure.” 

“Ah–!” I crushed my mouth against her glossed lips, mussing more cosmetic colour on to my skin. “Mmh…” She mewled in simultaneous desire and disappointment as my firm grip prevented her from slinking her rabid tongue all the way down my throat. “Y-you’re–mmf!--still–haah…holding back.” 

I also wanted to taste more of her specific clove-smoked saliva, but I was done having her run her mouth. 

“Don’t fret.” Batting her angles further apart, I wrenched her down onto her knees by her hair. “Just wanted to kiss you one last time tonight before I ruin you. We’re gonna be putting that oral fixation of yours to full use.”